


Uchronia: A Rarepair Week Collection

by bluebacchus



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Drunkenness, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M, Touch-Starved, rude boys making out in a bathroom stall, trpw2019
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-02-01 05:36:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21399955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebacchus/pseuds/bluebacchus
Summary: Day 1: Little/Irving, "Shore Leave"Day 2: Bridgens/Peglar/Gibson, “Invitation”Day 3: Des Voeux/Pilkington: "Rude Boys"
Relationships: Charles Frederick des Voeux/Pt William Pilkington, John Bridgens/Harry Peglar/William Gibson, Lt John Irving/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 13
Kudos: 52
Collections: The Terror Rarepair Week 2019





	1. Shore Leave: Little/Irving

**Author's Note:**

> Big kudos to the organizers of Terror Rarepair Week! For everything-shippers like myself it’s bound to be a wonderful experience

It was a clear night.

A clear night, and a quiet one.

Edward Little walked with his head down anyways, chin tucked into the high collar of his uniform. He had just abandoned Fairholme at the public house and bristled with shame at the memory of what had just transpired. Fairholme had begun flirting animatedly with a woman shortly after they arrived, leaving Edward to sit alone at the bar, nursing a whiskey and trying to blend in to the stained wood of the bar.

His attempt at invisibility failed. A woman across the room extracted herself from a tangle of sailors and sashayed across the sticky floor towards where Edward sat.

“Buy a lady a drink?”

Edward glanced up from his glass. He wanted to say no, to dismiss her with a “not interested, my apologies,” but the woman- the girl, rather, because she couldn’t have been older than Edward’s youngest sister- looked at him with shadowed eyes and a sallow pallor her makeup failed to cover. Edward gestured to the seat next to him and summoned the barkeep.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” she said, glancing at Edward out the corner of her eye. He nodded, and the barkeep came back with two glasses of bottom shelf whiskey.

“Tell me about yourself, sailor,” she said. “You lookin’ for company tonight?”

“I’m not one for company,” Edward said gruffly. He stared into the amber contents of his glass, swirling them around.

“You bought me a drink,” the girl said. In the recesses of his mind, Edward knew she was a prostitute from when she sat down next to him, smelling of flowers and ale, but it was just now that he understood what she wanted.

“I’m sorry to have misled you,” he said, but the girl had taken his free hand in hers and brought it up to her face.

“You don’t have to pay much for me, sir,” she said, holding his gaze while she took two of his fingers into her mouth. Her mouth was hot and wet as her tongue worked its way around the two digits in her mouth.

“Really, I should go-“

“Drink up, sailor,” she said, pulling off his fingers with a pop and guiding them below her skirts. Edward swallowed and reached for his untouched whiskey, downing it in one gulp as he felt his fingers press against the girl’s wetness. Uncomfortable in his current situation, Edward stared into the bottom of his glass and concentrated on the burn of the drink as it moved down his esophagus.

“Do you like what you feel?” the girl purred in his ear. Edward balked and ran.

And so he walked, past the empty market stalls that would be filled come morning, past the entrance to the dockyard, up the hill and past the church’s imposing gloom in the moonlight.

His cover of darkness was broken when the door to the church opened and John Irving stumbled out.

“Lieutenant Little?” Irving slurred. Edward hadn’t realized he was Scottish.

“Hello, John.” Irving was holding onto the cast iron handrail like a lifeline as he plodded down the steps to the path. Little frowned. “Are you drunk?”

Irving shrugged. “Communion,” he said.

“I didn’t think communion entails replacing all the blood in your veins with the blood of Christ.”

“No,” Irving shook his head, catching Edward’s arm and dragging them both onto the bottom step of the church. “But there’s only a pastor in training in tonight and he blessed the whole cask and one can’t dispose of consecrated wine so he suggested that I stay and share the cask with him.”

Edward felt his eyebrows migrate up towards his hairline. “Really?”

“Aye,” Irving said, lolling his head back and knocking his forehead against Edward’s shoulder. “Where were you on this pleasant evening?”

“I made the mistake of accompanying Fairholme to the public house.”

“Ah, a den of vice,” Irving said solemnly, face still pressed against Edward’s shoulder. “I hope I’m not keeping you from any… encounters.”

Edward snorted, thinking again of how quickly he ran from the girl.

“No,” he said, “not at all. It was a rather terrible night, to be honest.”

Irving looked up at him. His eyes reflected the light of the lamp that flickered above their heads, unfocused but intense in their gaze.

“Were you left unsatisfied?”

Irving turned his gaze to the waistband of Little’s trousers where his shirt had become untucked. For the life of him, Little couldn’t remember if he had felt even the slightest stirrings of arousal as the girl moaned around his fingers, but he felt it now.

He didn’t stop to think before he leaned in and kissed John softly on the lips, his sideburns brushing against the smooth skin of the other lieutenant’s cheek.

“Mmm,” John hummed as he leaned further into Edward, pressing their mouths together again. Edward tried to pull back, but John fell further into him, until he keeled over and vomited at Edward’s feet.

Edward Little just rubbed his friend’s back as he groaned into the purple puddle. Things were so much simpler at sea.


	2. Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry Peglar always looks after his friends.

Their acquaintance began by mere happenstance: one AB traded out for another, leaving the hammock next to Harry’s free for the new crewman to claim. It was pure chance that Billy Gibson arrived at his hammock the same time as Peglar, prompting a quick introduction before returning to their duties before _Wanderer_ departed England again. They didn’t speak properly until that evening when Harry dressed for bed, Gibson remaining clothed for his watch.

“Have a nice shore leave?” Gibson asked, quiet voice soft as smoke in the darkness of the deck.

“I did, yeah,” Peglar answered, before clapping a hand over the noticeable hickeys bitten into the skin of his neck left exposed by his underthings. 

“I’m not much of a gossip,” Gibson said, but Peglar made a note to keep an eye on him. The last thing he needed were rumours circulating that would interfere with his apprenticeship with the captain of the foretop.

Perhaps he watched Billy a bit too close, giving him ample reason to suggest that he was more interested than he was. Perhaps Billy, as he later admitted, was too hopeful and touch-starved to ignore the slightest bit of attention paid to him. Perhaps it was both that led them to the disused storeroom one night near the end of _Wanderer_’s present voyage. Peglar had arrived late, enticed by the note Billy had left under his pillow and dreading all of the reasons he could imagine for this meeting.

Billy kissing him was one of his less-thought-over options, but one he dreaded all the same. Turning his head, Peglar stared at the rotten wood near the floorboards where rats had eaten away at the wall.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Billy stared at his feet, awkward and gangly and still too close in the cramped room. “I have someone in London,” he said, opting to tell Billy the truth. He owed him that. It wasn’t often that he found someone who shared his proclivities in the Royal Navy.

“No, my apologies, Harry. I wanted- I thought…” Billy trailed off, eyes darting back and forth as if trying to find a rat-chewed hole to disappear into.

“I can’t be unfaithful to him,” Harry said, “but maybe John and I… maybe we can help.”

John Bridgens had been tidying his tiny flat relentlessly for the past two days. He wasn’t a messy man by nature, but he had the bad habit of forgetting to do laundry unless Henry’s clothes were mixed in with his own. It had been far too long, and John had already set aside three books in favour of looking out the window to the distant dockyard to count the masts and watch for incoming ships. _Wanderer _was due back soon and, barring any bad weather or unspeakable tragedy, she was expected in today. Through the rain, John could see movement on the horizon. He put the kettle on and settled into the window seat to watch _Wanderer_ dock.

The knock on the door came earlier than Bridgens expected it. He had only just got in himself, a bag from Henry’s favourite chippie sitting unopened on the table while he rooted through the cupboards for a second plate. Then, the unmistakeable sound of a key sliding into the rusty lock and the grind of the gears as they turned.

As soon as he turned, Bridgens was hit with the full force of Henry Peglar slamming into his chest, pushing him back against the countertop in a bone-crushing hug. The door to their flat, always a little bit off kilter, slammed shut and Bridgens smiled into the kisses that Peglar peppered his face with.

“I missed you, John,” he said, kissing him for real this time, long and lingering.

It wasn’t until he pulled away that Bridgens noticed that Henry had brought a guest into their rooms.

“Hello,” the stranger said shyly. He was tall- taller than John and towering over Henry, but he seemed to take up barely any space. Perhaps it was his slenderness, but more likely it was due to his discomfort as he shifted from foot to foot refusing to make eye contact with either of them.

“John, this is my friend, Billy,” Henry said. “He’s… like us.”

John nodded in understanding. It was important for men like them to become acquainted- there was less chance of friends informing on them than strangers who happened to be passing by an open window.

“I thought perhaps we could…” Henry trailed off, a pleading look in his eyes as he looked up at John.

John shook his head, not understanding.

“He’s been all alone, John! I thought I would at least _ask _if we could…”

“Entertain?” John asked. He was still confused, but the poor boy was backing up into the door and looking whiter than a sheet.

“I should never have imposed, Harry. I’m sorry, I’ll just go-“ Billy said. Henry reached for his arm to pull his hand away from the door handle. His hand landed on the bare skin of Billy’s wrist and even John, from across the room, couldn’t ignore the hitch in Billy’s breath at the contact.

It all came together for John at that moment. Henry’s kindness was going to get him into trouble one day, but John just smiled, knowing today was not that day. Instead, he told Billy where to hang his coat and led the two men into the bedroom.

Billy sat on the bed while Henry and John stood over him.

“What do you like, Billy?” Henry asked. He was always enthusiastic in bed, but he seemed to be vibrating with anticipation. John wrapped an arm around his waist, not so much out of possessiveness but just to hold him close. Surprises or no, it had still been far too long since he’d had his lover in his arms.

Billy looked down at his hands, folded in his lap.

“It’s always been fast, hard. I just need-“ he shook his head and ran a hand through his curls.

John sat next to him on the bed, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Billy shivered under the touch, distant as it was through layers of clothing.

“You can say anything you like in here, Billy. Me and Henry will be good to you, I promise you that.”

Billy looked up at John then, and whispered, “I just need somebody to touch me like I’m worth something.”

Henry had sat down on Billy’s other side and kissed him on his clothed shoulder. “You are, Billy. It’s been wonderful to be your friend.”

“And I thank you for keeping my Henry company on such a long voyage,” John said, gently caressing the nape of Billy’s neck. “You’re both home now, safe and sound.”

Billy nodded stiffly, and let Henry push him down onto the freshly laundered bedspread.

“You’ve done well. Let us take care of you now,” Henry said, following his partner’s example as Bridgens laid down next to Gibson. Sandwiched between them, Billy heaved a sigh and let himself relax into the hands caressing the planes of his chest, the outlines of his ribs, and the expanse of his back, jolting at the cold as Henry pressed his cold hands under Billy’s shirt and against his belly.

“Apologize to the man, Henry!” John said, hint of a smile playing across his strong features. “I’m certain he’s unused to your cold hands!”

Billy grabbed Peglar’s wrists as he went to withdraw.

“No,” he said, though it came out more as a plea. “Please don’t stop.”

Henry caught John’s eye, who winked and nodded his chin down at the still-clothed man beneath them. Together, they stripped Gibson’s shirt off and Henry immediately sank down to press his lips against one of the dark nipples they had just exposed. John, enjoying watching the two beautiful men in front of him, edged down the bed and began to softly stroke Gibson to full hardness through his trousers. Henry hummed happily from where he was pressing kisses across Billy’s chest, and Billy was panting now, head thrashing back and forth on the pillow.

John let his hand still and said, “now tell me again, Billy. What do you like?”

It was a difficult position to figure out. They eventually settled with Billy on his back, hands clasped around the bars of the headboard and long legs up in the air, begging to be caressed. Henry was in the middle on his hands and knees, sweat rolling off his forehead as he thrust into Billy beneath him. It was a wonder to watch his lover fucking someone else, and John would have been content to finish himself off while watching until Henry looked over his shoulder with _that look_ and told John that he needed him, he missed him, and that he’s been empty for far too long. John could never deny Henry anything.

He was on one knee, cock buried inside Henry, who was in turn fucking Billy from the weight of John on top of him. John couldn’t see much aside from Henry’s back, but the sight pleased him all the same. Seeing any part of Henry pleased him. He let his forehead drop to Henry’s back, shifting the angle and making Henry yelp and tighten. Henry’s hips stuttered, and as he pulled out of Billy to come, he impaled himself fully on John’s cock and _screamed_.

“Thank you,” Billy said for the umpteenth time. “I do appreciate your hospitality.”

“It was a pleasure to have you, Mr. Gibson,” John said.

It was morning; Billy had slept soundly through the night, warmth shared with John and Henry as they slept on either side of him. After a quick wash and a meal of not-yet-cold fish and chips, the three of them had fallen asleep rather quickly. Though John had been looking forward to a night of passionate lovemaking with Henry, he couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed the feel of an unfamiliar, but still beautiful, body becoming pliant beneath his hands. There was plenty of time for he and Henry to become reacquainted after Henry’s long months at sea.

“Henry could sleep through a cannon being fired from next door when he’s on land. You’re welcome to stay until he wakes.”

Billy glanced towards the open bedroom door and the unmoving lump that was Henry Peglar under a pile of blankets.

“I know how stubborn he can be, Mr. Bridgens. I wouldn’t want to miss my train home.”

“Of course. You must know that you are always welcome to stay anytime you find yourself in London.”

Billy nodded. “Thank you. It means a lot.”

John smiled and extended a hand. “We must stick together in these troubling times.”

“Yes,” Billy said, taking his hand, “we must.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, my dear, darling Terror fans!


	3. A Rude Boy Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royal Marine Will Pilkington hates weddings, but not as much as Charles Des Voeux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to put all your favourite Rihanna songs on repeat and get ready for the RUDE BOY WEDDING.

Charles Frederick Des Voeux hated weddings.

He hated sitting through ceremonies the most _(especially_ the long ones in churches, which this one was not, thank Christ), but it was nothing compared to the forced camaraderie and revelry of wedding receptions. But alas, here he was, arms crossed over his best suit, sneer carefully covering his features and doing its job in keeping the drunken aunts and groomsmen from approaching him.

The first wine glass of the evening shattered, and the drunken uncles all applauded, like it was some sort of hilarious occurrence that wouldn’t occur at least ten more times that night.

“Didn’t think you’d show up,” Sol Tozer said as he sat down next to him. He handed Charles a pint of Guinness.

“Don’t know why I did,” Charles said. The temptation to keep his arms crossed and slouch lower in his chair was outweighed by the temptation of Guinness and he sat up, reaching for the foamy mug.

“Because you’re a grand pal to me and my brother?” Sol laughed. He knew how much Charles hated social events, especially ones with aunties who liked to pinch his cheeks and ask him why a nice young man like himself was single.

Charles snorted. Sol and Charley were two of the only people Charles would call friends. He had dated Charley back in the day, back when he went by Catherine and they were both young, confused teenagers.

“Yeah, and-“ Charles started, but Sol cut him off.

“Stuff a thumb in it and drink your beer, Des Voeux.”

William Pilkington hated weddings. He hated weddings in England, especially, because all the drunken aunts and uncles would make leprechaun jokes and ask him if he was a member of the IRA. He was a card-carrying member of the IRA, but that was besides the point. The point was, he was discriminated against and victimized by old stodgy English people. He only came to this stupid wedding because Sol asked him to.

“I need backup, Will. Heather’s got an MRI scan scheduled for the day and I don’t really give a shit about the rest of the guys,” Sol had pled. “Maybe you can even get laid.”

Will had pretended to take offense at that, but nonetheless agreed. He did really want to get laid.

And so he stationed himself near the bar, drinking Guinness after Guinness despite the risk of looking like a stereotype. It was an open bar. His grandfather would be disappointed if he didn’t take full advantage. Unfortunately, the bar was very close to the dance floor. Cradling his beloved drink, Will ducked under the flailing arms of a gangly Tozer cousin, lost his balance, and crashed straight into another wedding guest, upending his drink on the man’s red dress shirt.

“Ah, shite,” Will said right as the music ended, prompting several shocked looks from the older generations of Tozers.

“Excuse me son,” he heard an old lady say, “are you an Irishman?”

Eyes widened in horror at the impending cheek pinches and leprechaun jokes, Will dropped to his knees and dove under the nearest table. Drawing on all his training with the Royal Marines, he somersaulted and dodge rolled from table to table until he reached one that was far enough away for him to emerge safely.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

The voice came from the only occupied seat at the table Will was hiding under. He emerged confidently, like he was taught to in Marine Training 101: What To Do When You Have Been Captured By The Enemy and Are Facing Imminent Torture. He was at the top of his graduating class when it came to Step One: Disorient the Enemy with Pointed Insults.

“I thought I’d come give you a whiff and see if it’s your smell or your personality that’s keeping everyone away from this table.”

The man, arms crossed across his chest, raised an eyebrow.

“And?”

Will leaned in to sniff at the man. He smelled nice. Really nice. Will was in too deep now.

“Nope, it must be your nasty personality,” he said, trying to ignore the spicy cedarwood scent that hung off the skin of the man’s neck.

“Are you flirting with me?” The man’s eyes narrowed, yet blotches of red coloured his cheeks. The thought hadn’t occurred to Will, but Marine Rule #37 was to Roll With It.

Sticking out his hand, Will introduced himself. “Royal Marine Will Pilkington. I’m here with Sol Tozer, brother of the groom.”

“Charles Frederick Des Voeux, also here on the Tozer side.”

Will pulled out a chair and sat down next to Charles, looking with irritation at the energetic dancing that was taking place on the dance floor.

“I hate weddings,” Charles said.

“Yeah. Oh, look! I think Grandpa just threw out a hip!” Will pointed to where an old man lay writhing in pain on the ground.

Charles snorted. “I’d love to hear him explain that to the A&E doctors. ‘My hip exploded while I was getting freaky on the dance floor to Rihanna’.”

Will laughed. “Old guy’s probably on so many opioids he can’t even feel it.”

“He is,” Charles said. “I took him to the hospital last week. I’m an EMT,” he added, seeing Will’s look of confusion.

Will looked from him to the old man, still writhing in pain. “But you’re just sitting here? While the old man needs medical assistance?”

Charles shrugged. “I’m not getting paid.”

For some reason, Charles’s nonchalance at the suffering of a grandfather while the wedding DJ played “Rude Boy” by Rihanna turned Will on immensely.

“Wanna get out of here and like, go make out or something?”’ he asked.

“With you?” Charles looked around, searching for a better option. “Yeah, sure, I guess.”

They headed out without so much as a goodbye, but only made it as far as the men’s room before they were biting at each other’s mouths and unbuttoning flies in a flurry of hands. Pushing them into the handicap stall, Will locked the door behind them shoved Charles against the metal stall door, hands tangling in his hair as he licked along the seam of Charles’s lips. Charles let his lips part, forcing his own tongue into Will’s mouth before he had a chance pull away. They fell into a routine after that- relaxing into trading kisses until one of them remembered they were supposed to be proving something and pressing messy bites into the other’s neck.

“D’you wanna blow me?” Will exhaled into Charles’s ear. Charles groaned, but pulled away and looked at the bathroom floor in disgust.

“You’re not hot enough for me to suck you off in a public toilet. Who do you think I am?”

Will smiled. “I have no idea, but I think I’d like to find out.”

They settled for mutual handjobs in the end, breathing into each other’s mouths as an excuse to press closer. Then the door opened, and a voice, no doubt originating from one of the drunken uncles echoed through the dingy tile of the toilets.

“Oi, can you hurry up in there? Gotta take a slash and I need that stall to fit my wheelchair.”

Will pulled back, eyes meeting Charles’s. They both smirked and, at the same time, they both yelled, “Fuck off!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Bryn on discord for sending me the article about Charley Wilson in its entirety! Charley was a Tozer sibling who lived undiscovered as a man for 40ish years. We stan an icon.


End file.
